


An Age Cannot Sate Love

by DancingDoula



Category: Once Upon A Time - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Angst, F/M, Fantasy, Romance, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4999351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingDoula/pseuds/DancingDoula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Jones travels back in time and meets Killian before he becomes Hook. Desperate to maintain the timeline and NOT fall in love with him, Emma is placed on a quest that will have them both choosing between an easy guarantee and taking that leap of faith only possible with true love. Time travel, fairies, curses, monsters. CS AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Pirate for Hire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background: Set after season3, 3 years after Pan and Gold are destroyed in Neverland (not Storybrooke), leaving our favorite gang free to return to Storybrooke without ever facing Pan’s curse.
> 
> This is a story set in the past, present and future, a convoluted history of sorts, and even though it begins in Storybrooke, this is not a story about our favorite sleepy town. There will be an adventurous quest, and of course true love will hang in the balance. AU

 

 

 

====o0I0o====

_Our universe unfailingly adheres to laws at work in and around us. Much speculation surrounds the origin of these natural forces, although there is little proof to support any one claim. It usually boils down to belief. And belief is strong indeed, creating or destroying our own cosmos at will._

_A miracle is said to occur when something happens contrary to the laws of nature._

_Redemption occurs when something unequivocally wrong is made right._

_This story is about miracles. And redemption._

 

====o0I0o====

Three days ago.

Emma casually walked down Main Street on her way to the station, planning to stop at Granny’s for a coffee and a quick word with Red about the girls’ night out planned for Friday.

Her life had finally settled into a comfortable routine. Henry was sixteen now, and he shared his time among his three parents’ households, loving his bizarre family dynamics. Her parents had just had a little boy, her brother Leopold—Leo for short—who was so tiny and yet yelled with the lungs of an opera singer.

And she was married, in a union she never thought she’d find herself, the biggest wonder being that she was happy, really happy for the first time in her life. Everything worked and it worked well. She had married Killian Jones over a year and half ago in an outdoor wedding ceremony on the beach. He worked part time as deputy at the station, where she was still Sheriff, and part time running charters on the Jolly Roger for people looking for a day-sail or an overnight fishing trip. They kept busy, but always made time for each other.

A secret smile played across her lips as she thought about her handsome husband, how just that morning he had woken her with his unending supply of passion, his adoration for her never ceasing to surprise her. She never tired of allowing her mind to linger on her pirate, and so as she walked down Main Street, images of Killian Jones fitted together in Emma’s mind like the pieces of a much-loved patchwork quilt.

Those were her last thoughts before Emma disappeared.

====o0I0o====

 

Three days. Emma had hiked for three lonely, rotten days through what looked like the Enchanted Forest, although she couldn’t be sure, since every time she asked about Mulan or Aurora or Robin Hood or Prince Philip, racking her brain for the names of anyone she could remember from her last time there, all she got in return were blank stares.  
  
Thank God she had a history of stealing. She had managed to pilfer a cloak from the back of a cart parked on the outskirts of a small village, covering herself with it immediately since her jeans, tank and red leather jacket stood out noticeably from the attire of those she came across. She had been wearing her boots the day she fell through, lucky that at least her footwear didn’t attract attention underneath the hem of the brown garment.  
  
After three days of hardly any food except a couple of apples and a pastry she’d been able to swipe when the vendors were looking the other way, and even less sleep, Emma was done. She missed her husband, his smell, his arms, his companionship, everything about him. She missed Henry, his animated exuberance about life in general and the way he never failed to make her smile. She missed her crazy family and her brother who screamed all the time. She missed showers and beds and hot chocolate and modern conveniences. She was tired, crabby, and had no idea where she was or how she was going to get home.  
  
Sometime around early evening, she finally stumbled into the first actual town she had seen, her boots echoing on the cobblestones of the main square. _Must be a port town,_ she thought, listening to the squawking of seagulls and scrunching her nose at the smell of rotten fish.  
The raucous sounds of a bustling tavern rang through the square, and Emma sat down on a bench outside, waiting for someone, anyone to emerge. She didn’t have to wait long.  
  
A rough looking man with brown homespun clothing shuffled out the door of the busy pub, looking back over his shoulder at someone inside, waving his hand in farewell. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that he was drunk and probably heading home for the night.  
  
Knowing this was her chance, Emma sidled up to the wasted man. “Hey there, fella, lookin’ for a good time?” She encircled his waist with her arm.  
  
“Huh? Whu…what?” He looked confused, then inhaled sharply when he saw her face, obviously surprised that she would be hitting on him.  
  
Emma found what she was looking for, and patted him gently on the back. “Hey man, maybe next time.”  
  
“Oh, alright then.” He looked dejected, but as though he had expected it from her, and Emma felt sorry for the pathetic man, watching as he turned around and continued shuffling away.  
  
She breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t wanted a fight, and that he had been carrying his coins in his pocket. Giving the coin purse a slight toss, she caught it and opened the door of the tavern, ready for a hot meal and a bed to lay her head. She’d look for a way home tomorrow.  
  
The noise was deafening after three days of solitude, and Emma had to stop in the doorway for a moment to get her bearings. That’s when it hit her, the overwhelming stench of unwashed bodies. She remembered it from the last time she’d been in the Enchanted Forest, and she had to breathe out of her mouth so she wouldn’t lose what little she still had in her stomach.  
  
She ambled over to the bar stretching along the right hand wall, shouldering her way between two large men with their backs to each other. The rest of the joint was filled with crowded tables. There was a fireplace on the wall now behind her, although no fire had been lit—so many bodies clustered together kept the place almost uncomfortably hot.  
  
“Hey!” she shouted over the din, trying to get the attention of the bartender by waving her hand at him.  
  
He either ignored her or didn’t hear her. She tried again to no avail. Frustrated, she turned around and faced the tables, leaning back against the counter. That was when she noticed one of the patrons steadily making his way over to her, his eyes trained on hers, a smirk on his face that left nothing to the imagination about what his intentions were. Emma rolled her eyes in disgust.  
  
As soon as he was at her side, he asked, “Can I hep ye wit somthin’, lil’ lady?” He leered at her, baring his yellow crooked teeth, while his eyes raked the front of her body through her open cloak.  
  
“Yeah, get the attention of the barman,” she said with a straight face. She moved out of his way, allowing him access to the small piece of real estate she had carved out of the press of men.  
  
He put his fingers between his teeth and whistled very loudly. Everyone in the near vicinity turned at the sound, all eyes alighting on her since she was one of very few women in an establishment filled with drunken men. She groaned in aggravation, sinking her shoulders and rolling her eyes again, averting her face to stare at some unidentified spill on the floor until everyone had lost interest.  
  
The bartender came over and the man stepped back, allowing Emma her place back at the counter. “Thanks,” she said over her shoulder.  
  
“What can I do you for?” The bartender asked with a smile.  
  
“I need a bowl of stew, a tankard of ale, and a bed for the night,” she said tiredly.  
  
He nodded once and left to get her food and drink.  
  
Relieved, Emma stood for a minute, allowing her mind to clear, the cacophonous sounds drowning out all thought. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see the man who had helped her.  
  
“So, don’ I git some kind of a thank ye?” He stared at her mouth, his unwashed body stinking with his proximity.  
  
“Yeah, I thought I already gave it.” She waited for him to make his move.  
  
“Shurly tha' ain' enuv.” His grip started to turn a little painful, and she seriously wondered if they were going to do this here, with people all around.  
  
“Seriously, dude, take your hand off me.” She picked up his wrist and threw it off her shoulder, turning back around to wait for her food.  
  
He returned his hand to the same spot, leaned forward and whispered low in her ear, “Come now, tha’s no way to treat a gen’leman.”  
  
He was persistent, she’d give him that. “Gentleman my ass,” she muttered. And with that, Emma hooked her ankle around the back of his knee, waiting as his body fell forward into hers. She bucked her head backward and caught him right in the nose, satisfied when she heard the crunch.  
  
“You b--!”  
  
He didn't get to finish his curse. She whirled around fast, hand up to deflect the punch that was aimed at her face. A well-aimed kick to his knee stopped his momentum, causing him to buckle in pain. Balancing on his other leg, he made to punch her again, this time in her stomach, but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder, roughly pulling him away from her and tossing him to the ground, as the blood poured from his broken nose. The man scrabbled up and moved away as fast as his body would allow.  
  
“Bad form to strike a lady.”  
  
Emma had been watching her attacker’s hasty retreat, panting from the effort and the adrenaline. Her breath caught at the sound of his voice and Emma looked up wide-eyed into the face of Killian Jones.  
  
“Oh, thank God!” She launched herself into his arms, hugging his neck tightly. “You came through too? Where are we?” She spoke quickly, her earlier anxiety and fatigue melting into relief.

====o0I0o====

  
  
Moments before, Killian had looked up from his rum to see a man he knew as Travis, a deckhand from one of the ships in port, making mischief with the pretty blond Killian had been silently admiring since she’d come in the door all alone and with an obvious attitude. Travis was a brave man to chance a meeting with her. When he saw her throw Travis’s hand from her shoulder, he knew he’d been right; she could take of herself. But when he had seen Travis’s fist raise in retaliation, Killian had made his way over to the pair as quickly as possible. He didn’t tolerate violence toward women.  
  
He had easily thrust the lunging man to the floor, but he hadn’t been prepared for her leap of faith into his arms, her soft body molding into his as her hands gripped the back of his collar and her face burrowed into the crook of his neck. Her hair smelled like leaves and twigs with an undercurrent of lavender, and he found himself responding to her embrace by comfortably linking his hands behind her back and resting his chin against her head.  
  
She hugged him for a long minute, breathing him in as her pulse calmed.  
  
Clearing his throat, he asked gently, “Do I know you, lass? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.” He pulled back from her, curious about her identity, but surprisingly reluctant to break the embrace, the intimacy of her touch warming him more than his rum had.  
  
She looked up, her eyes thick with some heavy emotion even though her words were light. “Always teasing, pirate. Just, just hold me for a minute okay?”  
  
He wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he did. She looked rough--fatigued and bedraggled, and as though she didn't have another fight left in her--but she was beautiful despite all that, and he found he liked the way she felt in his arms.  
  
Her soup arrived a minute later and she moved out of his arms as soon as she heard the bowl scrape the wood behind her. “I haven’t eaten in three days. I’m starved. Have you had anything? Because I have some money if you need something.”  
  
He shook his head and she ate her stew quickly, taking a deep breath when she was done, stepping back from the counter with a contented sigh. She twisted back around to face him, and he lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, trying to decide what to make of her.  
  
She smiled easily at him at first, and then her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Killian? Why are you dressed like that?”  
  
“Aye, lass, that’s my name. Would you be so kind as to tell me yours?” Her eyes were traveling down his body and back up again, and he couldn’t suppress the smirk that came so easily to his lips.  
  
Her clear gaze met his as some realization dawned on her. She looked away quickly, staring at the floor. “Damn it!” she said to herself.  
  
“Come now, it can’t be all that bad,” he said conspiratorially. “You don’t look like a Mildred or a Philomena or a Maren. I knew a Maren once, frightfully dull woman with a large mole just on the side of her…”  
  
“What are you even talking about?” she demanded, looking up with a beautiful scowl scrunching her face and accentuating her impatience.  
  
“Your name, still waiting.” He smiled a toothy smile, greatly enjoying himself, and stroked his chin with his left hand, allowing his eyes to rake her form, lingering on her chest for a moment too long before meeting her steady gaze with a full-blown smirk.  
  
Her eyes dropped to his hand, her mouth gaping slightly. Gathering it in hers, she turned it back and forth, inspecting his palm and scraping her fingers across his own like some sort of fortune-teller. She picked up his right hand and then compared the two of them. After she was satisfied, she gazed up at him sheepishly, as if suddenly aware of how peculiar she must look.  
  
The smirk dropped from his face almost as quickly as it had settled there. She was mad. A stunning lass, but a mad one nonetheless. Relapsing into his usual cocky attitude, if for no other reason than to hide how she discomfited him, he said, “See something you like?” and pulled his hands from hers, wishing he could take her to a quiet place, just the two of them, where he would literally charm the pants off her, mad or no.  
  
He watched as she pulled herself together, the wheels turning in her lovely head. She ignored his comment and offered her right hand forthrightly. “Swan. Emma Swan.”  
  
He took her hand in greeting. “Well, Mistress Swan, it’s been lovely meeting you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He made to step away from her, knowing full well she wasn’t going to let him go. He had used that move on the ladies so many times it hurt. If they thought he was walking away, they would suddenly become very willing to keep him there. He wasn’t disappointed.  
  
He felt her hand grip his arm. “Wait. Don’t go. I need your help.”  
  
“Do you now?” he simpered, turning back around to meet her gaze, wondering what excuse she would have for detaining him.  
  
“I’m from a different realm, and I need help getting back.”  
  
He knew she wasn’t from around there, her clothing told him that much, but a different realm altogether? He hid his surprise at her response behind sarcasm, “Oh, is that all? Just a spot of realm jumping, eh?”  
  
“Come on, Killian. I know you have a soft spot for damsels in distress. ‘Good form’ and all that.” She smiled coyly, batting her eyelashes and tossing her hair over her shoulder in a mocking and phony invitation.  
  
His eyes narrowed and his tone was sharper than he would have liked. “You hardly strike me as a damsel in distress, love. But you do realize that I’m a pirate. I don’t answer to anyone except myself, and realm jumping is quite complicated, especially this time of year.” He waved his hands around wide, mocking her in return.  
  
Her face reddened in frustration. “God, why do you always have to make everything so difficult? Can’t you just say, ‘Aye, I’d be happy to help you, love’?”  
  
He chuckled at her vocal impression of him, “Well, Emma Swan, since you seem to know me so intimately, you must also be aware that I only hire out for a price.” He stepped closer to her, hoping to unsettle her a bit with his oppressive proximity.  
  
Surprise followed by marked aggravation marched across her delicate features in line, and he smirked in response, impressed by her apparent gall at thinking she could persuade him with just her pretty face.  
  
“I… I don’t have anything I can offer you.” Her words held a hint of defiance, her chin jutting out, challenging him to come up with something she would consider reasonable.  
  
“That’s not true.” He raised an eyebrow and her lips formed a tight line; she wouldn’t give him what his seductive expression suggested. He chuckled, enjoying her discomfort and picked up her left hand, looking at the thick gold band, a large emerald surrounded by diamonds resting comfortably on her finger.  
  
“What? No, you can’t have my wedding ring!” She snatched her hand back.  
  
“Married, are you? Fascinating. Would have never guessed with the way you were clinging to me only moments ago.” The smirk never left his face and he realized he was back in control as he watched her face dissolve into fatigue.  
  
Her tone however, still held some annoyance. “I so remember doing this with you, and I’m really not in the mood for all the games. So let’s just cut to the chase. Will you help me or not?” The dark circles under her puffy eyes stood out in stark relief to her alabaster skin, catching the light as she turned away from him to look about the room and wait for his answer.  
  
Determining that he was up for a little adventure, and intrigued by the gorgeous woman asserting so much fortitude even when she was obviously exhausted, he decided to humor her. “For the price of the bauble on your finger, I will help you, milady.” He bowed to her, “Killian Jones at your service.”  
  
She waved her hands to get him to straighten his posture. “Finally.” Her shoulders relaxed in consolation, and he found himself intrigued by how quickly she'd let her guard down. She didn't strike him as the type to do so easily. “So, what’s first?” she asked, looking confused, a questioning frown settling on her face.  
  
“First, you come and have a drink with me. Then, well, who knows?” He licked his lips indecently, and she grimaced like she wanted to punch the smirk off his face, although she was unable to keep a glint of humor from her eyes. Killian Jones led her to his table, his steady hand on her back a clear indication to all in the tavern that he had claimed this lass for his own.


	2. A Conversation Over Breakfast

Emma stretched lazily, slowly opening her eyes to the quiet morning with a yawn. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as her body had hit the straw-stuffed cot, only managing to pull off her boots and drag the ragged blanket up to her shoulders before she passed out, the din of the bar below having faded into nothingness in a matter of moments.

She yawned again, long and deep, amazed what a full night of sleep could do, and allowed her thoughts to shift to Killian. Meeting an earlier version of her husband was something she could have never anticipated, and she relished the chance to observe what he was like before he had been betrayed and spent three hundred years chasing revenge. He seemed carefree, lighter perhaps. He had fewer worry lines between his brows, and his eyes didn’t conceal the pain they had when she’d first met him. He looked good, happy instead of conflicted, his expression resembling her husband’s for the past year or so.

This thought made her smile, pleased that she could bring that kind of joy into his life, even if it had taken three hundred years for him to find it. She ran her hands down her body--the same way he woke her most mornings--imagining his own hands on her, longing for his touch. She couldn’t wait to get home to him. Picturing how worried he must be, she wished she could send him a message that she was okay.

Her ruminations were suddenly interrupted by a stray thought flashing through her brain, grabbing her attention insistently like an alarm that refuses to turn off.

_What if your being here alters history?_

Emma stilled completely, her heartbeat thudding in her ears as she considered this new possibility. It honestly hadn’t crossed her mind that history could change, therefore affecting her life, her satisfied, easy life. She had finally found contentment, safety, the freedom to be and to feel without restraint or fear that she'd be left alone again. She had love, true love with the one person who knew her better than she knew herself. She couldn’t conceive of a life without him now. She wouldn’t.

And what about him? What if they never married? or worse yet, never met? How would that change his destiny? His revenge had finally released its hold on him, allowing him to find the happiness he so deserved—what would happen if that changed?

Emma’s mind began spinning around and around as she tried to work the kink out of her present situation. She had hired him to help her get back home, which meant they’d be spending a lot of time together. How could she know what to tell him and what not to? How could she know what was off limits and what was okay? How could she maintain her distance from the one man she loved with everything she had in her heart, her mind, and her soul?

_What about Milah?_

Emma’s stomach twisted in rebellion at the thought of Killian’s first love. Killian had either already met her or hadn’t yet, and he needed Milah as the catalyst to his revenge that would eventually bring him into contact with Emma. It was excruciating to picture him now, so lighthearted and easy, and to imagine the grim man he would become after he lost his hand and his heart, to know that she would have to gently encourage him down that dark path if he was ever to become hers.

Calming her anxious mind with a few deep breaths, Emma made a decision. She couldn’t chance losing the happy ending they’d finally found, for both their sakes. She’d just have to carefully promote his relationship with the other woman and try not to focus on how difficult that might prove to be.

She stretched again, the shaking in her limbs abating somewhat now that her mind was made up, as a loud rumbling in her stomach interrupted the quiet. She was hungry.

Sitting on the edge of the cot, she donned her boots and folded her cloak over her arm before leaving the room. The smell of fresh baked bread greeted her. Following her nose, Emma made her way downstairs with the intent of ordering breakfast before going to find Killian.

She was halfway to the counter of the near empty room when a man abruptly stood from a nearby table, turning to block her path and moving as though to press himself against her body. Jumping back in revulsion, she put her hands in front of her to push him away. The nasty man with yellow teeth from the night before sneered back at her. A single bandage wrapped around his head and covered his nose. Purple bruises peeked out from beneath the white cloth and radiated toward his eyes.

“Jes where do ye think ye’re goin’?”

For someone who'd gotten his ass kicked the night before, he was acting awfully bold this morning. A glance over his shoulder told her why; his two companions now had their eyes trained on her, ready to make a move if necessary. Crap. She was about to be jumped, and before breakfast for heaven’s sake, which made her really angry after being half starved for three days.

She intended to give them one hell of a fight.

Dropping her cloak on another table, she said wearily, “To breakfast. Now, if you’ll kindly let me pass.” She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath to steady herself as she waited for him to make his move, all her muscles tense and ready for the attack.

“I don’ think so. Ye’re comin’ with me.” He pulled a small blade from the back of his belt, holding it upright and brandishing it back and forth in the light, trying to scare her.

Knife. Recalling her self defense classes from when she was a bounty hunter, she knew that she should ignore the knife and watch the man’s chest and eyes to see when and where he planned to move. Just like she expected, his eyes told her exactly what he was going to do.

He was going to grab her arm and twist her around so he could hold the knife to her neck and force her out the door.

Mistake. Before he could clasp her arm, she spread her arms wide and hooked her hands around his neck. A quick tug pulled his head down onto her upraised knee, slamming his face into her leg. He shouted in agony as his nose came in contact with the hard muscle, the knife clattering to the floor.

She turned to run for the door, stopping short when his two companions blocked her path. Now her attacker would have time to recover and approach from behind, surrounding her.

 _Perfect_ , she frowned.

She glanced around for a possible weapon, noticing a sturdy chair within arm’s reach. Smiling seductively, she winked at the two oafish men in front of her and cocked a hand on her hip, causing them to shuffle back and forth on their feet in discomfort, obviously not relishing a scrape with a woman. She now knew that her attacker was the ring-leader of this unwilling bunch. Good fortune favored her.

She heard a table scrape out of the leader’s way as he approached her back. “Tsk, tsk, lil’ lady. Ye’re gonna regrit ever messin’ wit’ me.” His nasally voice sounded furious, but marked his position behind her.

Emma kept her body facing the two large men, quietly mumbling, “Is that so?”

Grabbing the chair to her left and grunting a little under the weight of it, she swung it hard at the men in front of her, who had plenty of time to move back out of the way. But the man behind her didn’t anticipate that she was actually aiming for him, the side of the chair hitting him broadside in the jaw as she swung completely around, knocking him out as his head bounced off a table. He collapsed to the floor without so much as a sound.

Emma dropped the chair, panting from the effort and staring down the two men in front of her while trying to decide her next move. The two men looked at their fallen comrade and at each other, as if confused without the other man to give them orders.

The door swept open. Killian Jones filled the opening and took in the scene in seconds, eyes noting her defiant posture, her attacker out cold, and his two mates unsure what to do. He whisked his body in their direction, his mouth settling into a hard line, eyes icy and distant, the stern pirate Captain evident in every stride. Emma slumped in relief.

Killian placed his hands on the shoulders of the two men, squeezing tightly and causing them to wince in reaction. He gestured toward the fallen man with his head and pushed the other two in his direction. “Take him and get out. And if I see Travis bothering Miss Swan again, he’ll have to answer to me.”

Emma stifled a chuckle as their faces went from cautious to horror-filled, obviously imagining all sorts of diabolical things if left at the mercy of Jones. They nearly stumbled, quickly bending to pick up their fallen comrade, one at his head and one at his feet as they carried him out the door, careful to keep their eyes down as they passed the angry Captain.

Once they were gone, Jones turned to Emma, a wide grin erasing all former traces of the fierce seaman. “Ah, so she lives,” he said companionably.

It was true that she hadn’t been much company the night before. She had literally swallowed the rest of her ale and nearly fallen over from fatigue. When Killian had seen her stagger, he had helped her to her room and left her to sleep it off.

She watched as he made his leather-clad way over to her, her breath catching at his lively smile so like her husband’s first thing in the morning that she couldn’t help but smile widely in return, her heart picking up tempo for the second time that morning, now because of his presence. “Good morning… Jones.”

“So we’re using surnames then, is that it?” Disappointment flashed through his eyes for just a second before he replaced it with indifference.

“Yeah, I prefer to keep things professional.” _Mainly for my own peace of mind_. “I was just about to order breakfast, do you want anything?”

“No thank you, lass, I’ve already eaten.” He put his hand out to indicate that he’d wait for her while she procured something to eat.

She nodded and walked back to the kitchen to find the owner of the tavern.

A few minutes later, a small loaf of bread and a cup of milk in hand, she joined Killian at the table where he sat quite comfortably slouched, mischief dancing in his clear blue gaze as he followed her every move.

“Well then, Swan, I can wait no longer. Exactly what realm are you from?” he asked with interest.

She sat down across from him, raising the mug to her lips. The thick creamy liquid nearly satisfied her hunger on its own, although she would have given anything for some chocolate to put in it. She looked up at him from over the rim of her mug. “I’m from the land without magic,” she said bluntly, if a tad cautiously.

He leaned his forearm across the table. “Haven’t heard of that one. But I’m sure it works the same as the rest. We need to find a bean and then we can open a portal and send you back through.”

She inhaled deeply, speaking quietly. “I’m afraid it may not be as easy as all that.” She took another sip, regretting what she had to tell him in case he decided not to help her after all. At his questioning eyes she continued, “I’m from your future. And I need to get back there.”

He took a deep breath, studying her before leaning his chair back and lacing his hands on the back of his head, his eyes moving to the ceiling. “How far into the future?”

She paused. Still keeping her voice down, she said, “Approximately three hundred years… give or take.”

He sputtered, chair scraping the floor noisily as he bolted upright. “Three hundred years!”

She flinched and stared down at her bread, breaking it into tiny pieces as she tried to work out an alternative course of action if he walked away. She could think of nothing, and prayed he would help her.

He sat uncommonly still, his gaze almost uncomfortable on her skin. Then he spoke quietly. "You said, 'your future'. Is that correct?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

"Which implies we know each other. Or 'will know' rather." He stayed still a moment more, considering, then his head kicked back in a large nod. "Ah, yes, the embrace, the hand."

She didn't answer as the reason for her strange behavior from the night before sunk in. She could only imagine what it was like for him to meet someone who already knew him—he must be taken more than a little off guard, and she knew from experience that he usually shrouded himself in sass and sarcasm when he felt uneasy. He surprised her.

“Then returning you could prove to be a mite more difficult than finding a bean and opening a portal. As far as I know, portals open space, not time.” She could see him thinking, trying to come up with an idea or a possible solution.

“Leave it to me to find the most difficult way of doing something,” she said dejectedly, offering him a piece of her broken bread. “So. Will you still help me?”

====o0I0o====

Killian gazed into her beautiful green eyes and couldn’t find it in himself to tell her no. She actually believed he was her only hope. Trust as plain as day gathered in her reluctant gaze. He felt conflicted. Pride washed through him, but the weight of her trust situated almost uncomfortably in his gut. Here was the chance for a hero’s journey, presented by an intriguing woman who was tougher than most men he knew. Her unwavering faith was a burden, yes, but it also made him feel noble again—serving a purpose greater than himself, like he had under Liam’s command. And although her safety would be completely in his hands, he was Killian Jones, a man of his word, and he would help her for as long as he was able.

He spoke softly, accepting the token fare. “Aye, lass. I’ll assist you.” He popped the bread into his mouth and put his hands back behind his head again, holding his eyes on her.

Exhaling deeply, relief flooded her features as she finished off the last few pieces of her meal. “Thank God,” she whispered. Then looking up at him she asked, “So do you have any ideas of where to start?”

“Well, I’m going to pack my things and leave my ship in the capable hands of Mr. Smee. Then you and I are going to take a little trip.”

“Where to?”

“To those who have answers," he said cryptically. "The fairies,” he added when her expression turned overly serious.

“The fairies? I thought you only had to wish upon a star and they would come.”

“Not quite,” he chuckled. He didn’t know what kind of fairies she was talking about, but they sounded much nicer in her time. “I only wish it were that easy. The fairies are ruled by the White Fairy, a proud and mean-spirited little sprite who keeps interactions with humans to a minimum.”

“Is there no one else?” Her brow furrowed with mild anxiety, and a sudden desire to protect her overcame his usual swagger when dealing with women.

He ignored his inclinations. “Not unless you want to work with the Dark One?”

His question brought her up short. “Rumplestiltskin?”

He narrowed his eyes in her direction, removing his hands from the back of his head and sitting up straighter, resting his hands on his knees as he leaned forward. “How do you know that name?”

“In my time he was the Dark One.” Emma shrugged, then focused her gaze as if remembering something. “Wait, do you know Milah?”

He only half heard her question. “So the coward finally finds the courage to defeat someone? That’s interesting.” He stroked his chin, trying to imagine a world where Milah's ridiculous husband had all the power of the Dark One. “And aye, I know Milah; how to do you know her?”

Emma didn’t answer and sipped from her cup instead. Several moments passed as he studied her, wondering what she was hiding. He frowned, asking, “How do you know me, Swan?”

Her voice was low and hesitant, as though she were afraid of what she was saying. “You and I were… are… friends."

She said ‘friends’ as though she wasn’t sure what they were. “Friends, eh?” She barely nodded, and he let it go, having already guessed enough about her to know that any more information wouldn’t be forthcoming.

“Yeah, friends," she stated suddenly but emphatically, as if she'd decided something. "Anyway, I need to get back to my family. I miss my husband and my son."

“Then pray tell how it is that I’m even alive in your time?”

Her gaze turned to his once more. “You did a stint in Neverland.”

“Neverland?” Killian stared at her, raising one brow in question.

“Where no one grows old,” she supplied.

“Aye, I know the place. My brother and I traveled there some time ago.” Neverland? He had vowed never to return to the accursed place. What had changed to make him go back there?

“Liam? How long ago?” she asked respectfully, looking down at the table between them.

She knew about Liam too? “It happened six years ago,” he said quietly, a pang of sorrow passing through him at the mention of his brother, but then stilling, not hurting as much as it used to.

She nodded, then lifted her eyes upward, lingering at the open neck of his white shirt. Good. She wasn’t completely unaffected by him. She had been playing it cool ever since she realized he wasn’t exactly who she thought he was, and Killian Jones was accustomed to women falling all over their feet for his attentions. _But not her_ , he thought, his interest piquing in the riveting lass.

“Well then, Swan, shall we?” He stood, chair scraping the stone floor, and offered her his outstretched hand. She smiled tentatively and took it. Her skin was soft, definitely not like the hands of a coarse work-woman or tavern wench. 

What was he going to do with this beautiful lass who’d come to him for help, who knew about his past and future? He’d never had anyone blindly trust him as she was now, not even his crew, and they knew he’d die to protect them, pirate or no. He believed in good form and a code of honor and to date had kept his reputation flawless. Wherever their path took them, he would not let the lass down.


	3. A Forest Hike

Killian and Emma had been walking for what seemed like forever through the dappled shade of the forest, at first following a well-worn path. At some point, they had turned away from the main avenue, taking a side aisle that led into the sweltering sun along a tree-line with an open field off to their right. Emma wasn’t fully recovered from her first three-day trek, and frankly she was beginning to wonder if she had gone soft since her last major hike through Neverland about three years previous. Killian, however, seemed to be enjoying himself as they marched on the edge of the trees, attempting light conversation whenever he found something interesting to point out, not seeming to care that Emma was cranky and mostly non-responsive. 

Twenty-four. He was twenty-four years old. So young! No wonder he was hiking so easily in front of her, leading the way with a satchel slung across one shoulder filled with what she assumed were supplies. _I bet he has fewer scars too_ , she thought absently, catching herself staring at his backside yet again, only to tear her eyes away, the sight of his happy strut wrenching at her heart and making her miss her husband even more if that was possible.

He carried a stick in his right hand, having picked it up in the forest for swatting at low hanging branches, that he now used as a walking stick, since the tree-line they were following had very few bushes poking out beyond it, and the ones that did could easily be skirted.

He had finally relinquished his leather jacket when the sun hit its zenith. Emma had tied hers around her waist ages ago, sweat making rivulets in the dust that covered her body. What she wouldn’t give for a wash.

After awhile, the sound of their feet swishing through the short grasses soothed Emma’s tired mind, the regular tempo lulling her into a trance, until he spoke.

“Well, lass, as we’ll be on the trail for quite awhile yet, and you already seem to know so much about me, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself.” He spoke with ease—a genuine attempt to draw her into a conversation.

She paused, guarded and unsure, her tone clipped. “Look, I’m not here for a chat. I just want to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

He twisted his head around, crystal blue eyes carefully studying her face before taking on a teasing note. “Are you always so short-tempered?”

She shrugged and answered honestly. “Sometimes.”

He stopped walking, allowing her to catch up with him, stopping her forward motion with a hand on her shoulder since she was intent on passing him by. “Look, Swan, I know you trust me with your life.” He gave her the _open book_ look she’d seen so many times her stomach did a flip-flop with how much it reminded her of _him._ “Do you not trust me any further?” His earnest expression softened her demeanor, making her feel more than a little guilty at having been short with him.

“It’s not that.” She looked away from his intense gaze carefully probing her for an explanation.

“Then what is it?” he asked gently.

How was she supposed to tell him that the burden of history rested on her shoulders? That she loved him with everything she had inside of her? That she was dying as she watched him walk in front of her, his swagger making her want to leap on him from behind and let him hold her, comfort her, reassure her that he’d get her back to her son? This Killian Jones was so different from the Captain Hook she’d first met. He had been a liar and a cheat, using anyone he could to get his precious revenge. But over time that had changed, Killian Jones had emerged like a phoenix from the ashes, his black heart altering, until it began to beat in time with hers, until their rhythms were indistinguishable. The man standing before her was Killian Jones, and Captain Hook was nowhere in sight.

She knew from experience that her path would be infinitely easier if he were Hook.

She settled for part of the truth. “Listen, Jones. I’m from the future, where you live too. I don’t know what to tell you that might not rearrange… things. As it is, my being here could completely change your future and possibly mine too.”

“Would that be so bad?” He tucked a lock of hair over her shoulder and an unreadable emotion quickly passed across his face before he allowed a small grin to tease the corners of his mouth. She knew that look, that flirting, stay-with-me-tonight-lass look. He was going to be the death of her.

She blushed, the weight of his left hand still pressing into her shoulder, the physical contact and his closeness flustering her. “Of course!” she snapped, “I happen to like the life I’m trying to get home to.”

He let go of her and rubbed the back of his neck. “I see. Well then, tell me something innocuous, something that wouldn’t affect actions. Like, what’s your favorite color?”

She smiled, looking down at her feet, and they both continued walking side by side. “Red.”

“And mine is…”

“Black.” She cut him off, assurance and finality in her tone.

“No, you brazen lass, I was going to say blue—the color of the ocean specifically. Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you seem to think.” The k on the end of 'think' came out exaggerated, meaning he was pleased to have proved her wrong.

She raised her brows at him in surprise, trying to detect a lie. He wasn’t lying. That was new. In her time his favorite color was definitely black; he’d told her so on numerous occasions.

“Next. Tell me about your childhood.” They came to a break in the tree-line, a path clearly visible through the tall hardwoods. He guided them back into the forest, still walking by her side, the path occasionally narrowing enough that their arms casually brushed each other.

“That’s getting a little deep, don’t you think?” She tried to ignore the shiver that passed through her every time she felt his warm skin underneath the linen of his shirt with the sweep of his arm next to hers.

“Why? I’m merely trying to make conversation, and I don’t see how my knowing about your childhood could possibly affect future actions.” He stepped over a fallen tree branch, stretching out his hand to her.

She waved the proffered hand away, not trusting herself to let go if she took it, and considered that maybe he had a point there. “It’s a long story, and not a very pleasant one.”

“We have some time. And I’m all ears to find out how it is that you’re such a _tough lass_.” He winked at her, glancing briefly at her well-muscled arms to make his point.

She rolled her eyes at him. She knew he was genuinely interested—he always had been—and knowing she could trust him made her more willing to share. 

She started her story at the beginning, with being found on the side of the road and then placed in the foster care system.

“Foster care?” He held back a low hanging branch as she passed him by so it wouldn’t strike her in the face.

“Thank you. Where you essentially belong to the state… the government… that in turn pays a family to take you in instead of staying in an orphanage. I lived with several different foster families and in between, the orphanage.”

“So you moved around frequently?” He was straight forward, no pity detectable in his tone, which gave her a small measure of relief.

“You could say that. I never had the opportunity to put down roots because I never stayed in any one place longer than a couple of years. It was hard, but I did learn to be self-sufficient.” she said with a half-smile.

He was quiet for a minute, considering.

“Now you,” she said. “Tell me something about growing up with Liam.”

“Fair enough, lass.” He smiled and nodded. “Liam was ten years older than I, so sometimes he was more like a father than a big brother. My own father left when I was a child.” She nodded; she knew that much.

“Liam was already in the Royal Navy by then, so I was taken in by an elderly neighbor who raised me. Her name was Mrs. Fritz, a widow who had no children of her own. Liam came to check on me every so often to make sure I wasn’t running the poor old woman ragged, which of course I did.” He smiled in remembrance, an eyebrow cocking up in amusement.

“What’s so funny?” 

“Ah, well, it’s just that on one such visit, Liam walked into the main room of the house to find me bent over Mrs. Fritz’s knee, grunting while she gave me a thrashing I wasn’t likely to forget. Liam walked in wide-eyed, but when he caught Mrs. Fritz’s eye, he clamped his lips together and stalked out. He told me later that he’d nearly burst out laughing—Mrs. Fritz a sore sight, struggling to keep my squirming body on what was left of her lap, hair poking out at all kinds of crazy angles, face red and pulsing with rage. He said he figured whatever I had done must have deserved the punishment.”

“What had you done?” Emma had never heard this story before and was all ears.

“Stoned her chickens.” He shrugged, as if that were perfectly understandable behavior.

“What possessed you?” Emma asked incredulously, although not surprised that her pirate had been a very mischievous boy.

“I had bought a new slingshot with hard earned coins, you see, and had to test it."

She chuckled. “Yes, you did deserve it.”

“Aye, I did… but it was worth the beating.” He nudged her arm and grinned widely when she turned her face to his.

Emma laughed earnestly then, losing herself in his easy conversation. She suddenly stopped, catching herself, remembering that she couldn’t indulge in this luxury of companionship with him or she’d lose her heart all over again.

He turned toward her as they walked, watching her carefully with a questioning gaze. She wouldn’t give in to those beautiful blue eyes asking her what was wrong. She brushed past him on the path, flustered once again, trying to make out just how she was going to resist his ample charm.

====o0I0o====

Killian sensed the change in Emma even before she had abruptly stopped laughing, but he had no explanation for it. She looked confused, agitated and almost angry. He hoped he hadn’t said anything that might have offended her, but thinking over his comments, he couldn’t imagine what it would have been. She frowned as she brushed past him, and he let her lead for awhile, quietly correcting her course as necessary, wondering about her, but respectful enough not to ask what had her so prickly.

Sometime around early afternoon, they encountered a clearing near a small stream. As soon as she saw the water, Emma ran toward it, hastily removing her boots. Killian smiled as she hopped on one foot, pulling off her sock and nearly stumbling onto the mossy bank.

“Ahhhh. That feels so good.” She stood ankle deep in the water, holding her trousers up with her fists, as the clear water washed over her feet.

Killian sat down, keeping one knee up and leaning on it as he pulled a piece of hardtack from the satchel he’d grabbed from his ship. He grinned at the ecstasy on her face, her sigh of pleasure making his insides roll like his ship on rough seas.

“I could give you a rub-down if you like, lass,” he smirked, patting the ground next to him in invitation.

 “You wish. I’m not in that much pain, pirate,” she shot back.

“Pity. Well, perhaps after we’ve made it past the fairies’ deterrents.” He wasn’t looking forward to the next few hours. He had stopped in the clearing to give Emma a break and regain a little of her strength before they traveled on. She’d need the rest.

Emma groaned, “I really don’t like how that sounds. What deterrents?” She stepped back into the soft moss, slightly bouncing her toes on the springy substance. She sat down next to Killian and he handed her a piece of the hard biscuit.

“I’m not sure. I just know there are three outer rings of defense before anyone can get into the fairy conclave. Very few people chance it, so there’s not much information available.” He averted his eyes from her long legs, resisting the urge to reach out and run his hand down one of them.

“Is there no other way?” She bit into the biscuit, and he could tell she was hungry by the way she chewed so quickly.

“Not that I know of. The fairies are the keepers of magic, the Dark One too, although you said you preferred to avoid him, so I figure if anyone knows how to open a time portal, they will.”

“I meant is there no other way to get around the defenses?” she asked with apprehension.

“Oh, right. The White Fairy doesn’t converse with humans unless they make it through her defenses, figuring if they won’t make the effort, then what they need can’t possibly be worthy of her consideration.” He rifled through the bag for a couple of pieces of dried meat before handing one to Emma.

When their meal was finished, they both lay down on the soft earth, and Killian stared up at the bright sky through the leaves in the trees. The tension in his muscles slowly ebbed, and he allowed the soft sounds of the forest to clear his mind.

A gentle snore broke through the quiet, and Killian rolled himself to his side to watch the striking lass lying comfortably beside him. His breath caught at the sight of her long-limbed physique, the sunlight giving her the look of being lit from within. She had to be one of the most beautiful women he’d ever encountered, her lovely skin beckoning for his touch, the slight crinkle between her brows begging for a kiss to smooth them. He swallowed thickly, intrigued by the way she brought out the playful and protective side of him. He was much more accustomed to the adaptable ladies of the night, although he didn’t often avail himself of them, or women like the saucy Milah, hardworking farm women who found themselves in the taverns at night to escape their lonely lives for a bit of fun.

No, there was something different about Emma Swan, although he’d be damned if he knew what it was. _Quite literally_ , he thought, given his strong reaction to the lass.

A cursory glance at the position of the sun told him it was time to go, although he loathed to disturb her rest. Running his hand lightly across her arm, indulging his desire to caress the soft skin before she woke up, he gently shook her awake.

Her mouth formed a tight line and she snapped, “Come on, can’t I just a rest for a little bit?”

“You’ve been asleep for an hour, lass. We need to get back on the path so we make it through the defenses before nightfall.” He spoke with a tender smile, letting her know that he didn’t take her sharp tone personally.

Emma sat up, rubbing her feet before putting her socks and boots back on. “Thanks,” she said begrudgingly.

“What for?” He stood over her and draped his bag across his shoulder, offering her a hand up.

She took it and rose up quickly. “For letting me rest. I guess I’m still tired from the last few days.”

Compassion washed through him, and he brushed his hand across her cheek, his emotions almost raw, perhaps from having watched her in her sleep for too long. “Once we get there, you should be able to acquire the rest you seek.”

He saw her fight the urge to lean into his hand before abruptly turning her cheek away. “Okay then, let’s move on,” she said stoically, wrapping her jacket more tightly around her waist so it wouldn’t slip off.

“After you, milady.” He bowed his head slightly and put his arm out, hiding his disappointment at her rejection of his touch.

The path was easy enough to follow, although as they traveled closer to their destination, the sun faded into gray and the wind began to pick up. It couldn’t have been more than an hour from their last stop.

“Is there a storm approaching?” Emma asked. 

He looked up into the sky, curious himself about the sudden appearance of inclement weather. “There shouldn’t be. But I don’t think this is a storm brought on by natural causes.”

Emma looked concerned, and she kept glancing between the sky and the path ahead, as if trying to figure out if this was one of the three tests. He moved to her side, his warm hand grasping hers. “I hope you don’t mind,” he lifted their hands a little with a half-smile, “but I don’t like the looks of the air around us.”

She shook her head and clasped his hand a bit more tightly. Her hand suited his grip as well as the custom-made sails on his ship. That thought wanted continuing, but a sudden wind gust whipped through his hair, ripping at the edges of their jackets and making her step a little closer to him. 

Out of nowhere, a butterfly that should have been too fragile to fight the wind fluttered happily across the path, as though there wasn’t a gale bending the trees and causing a shower of leaves to coat the ground.

Then another butterfly and another joined millions more of its fellows, creating a bulwark of dancing insects. They were striking, their brightly colored wings glinting in the low light, throwing off rainbow-colored sparks as they darted about. They began flitting closer and closer to Emma and Killian as they walked. Something about their manner seemed odd and almost predatorial, as though they were hunting in a pack.

“Ow!” Emma cried, her voice dying in the rushing wind. “What was that?”

Killian stopped walking forward. The butterflies stopped advancing too, holding their position, as if waiting to see what Killian and Emma were going to do.

_This must be the first ring of defense,_ Killian thought. His stomach clenched as he looked over at Emma, a thin razor-like cut prominently splayed across her cheek. He lifted a finger and pointed to the red line, speaking loudly over the roaring of the wind. “I don’t think these are ordinary insects.”

Emma touched her cheek, wincing at the cut that was already bleeding. “It looks like these little bastards are one hell of a defense line.” She looked back up at Killian, squeezing his hand momentarily, and said so softly that he had to strain to hear her, “You know… you don’t have to come with me.”

He flashed a wide smile, hoping to calm her nerves. “And miss the chance to rescue a damsel in distress? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Her expression remained serious. “I only said that to get you to help me.”

“And what kind of gentleman would I be if I went back on my word?” She settled into the heels of her feet as though she'd expected his answer, and her eyes flickered to his lips.

As quickly as her gaze lowered, it rose again, her face going from yielding to mask-like in a moment. She rolled her eyes. “Right. The gentleman thing.”

Killian was disheartened once again by her sudden shift in mood. Truth was, he did not relish passing through a bunch of butterflies that could somehow inflict wounds like a razor. But a promise was a promise, and he wouldn’t leave Swan on her own against the nefarious midges. “Here, lass, put on your coat and do it up. The leather should offer some protection.”

He tore the fabric of his shirt at the shoulder seams, ripping with several short jerks until the sleeves came free. With his knife he cut two small holes in the middle of both lengths and handed one to her. He tied one sleeve around his face, centering the holes over his eyes. She followed suit.

He buttoned his own leather jacket, pulling up the collar, stuffing his hands in his pockets to cover as much skin as possible. “Ready?” he shouted through the shirt and over the wind.

Killian saw her steel herself with a curt nod before shouting back, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“We’ll run straight through the center of them. Try to stay as close to me as possible so we give them less room to attack.” He watched her pretty green eyes through the fabric, looking for signs of panic, and was impressed to find only a moderate uneasiness.

Emma nodded again and stuffed her hands in her pockets after checking that as much of her neck as possible was covered before shouting, “On three. One… Two… Three.”

They took off into the cloud of angry pests, heads down and running as fast as they could.

 


End file.
